


one species short

by openended



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cats, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't a month in their new digs before the two cats arrive, entirely unannounced and very much expecting lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one species short

It isn’t a month in their new digs before the cats arrive, entirely unannounced and very much expecting lunch. Two of them – one orange, one grey – who slink about the place as if they own it. Dean locks the orange one into an empty room that has no discernible use and Sam chases the grey one into one of the libraries. They take not an inconsiderable amount of time with salt, a holy water squirt gun (Dean gives credit where credit is due and names the thing _The Mama Tran_ ), and every spell and exorcism they can imagine.

After three days they determine that the cats are, indeed, just cats.

Once he opens the library door, the grey one – and it occurs to him that they should probably give these creatures names – saunters past Sam with a look terrifyingly similar to Dean’s _bored now, can we eat?_ face. Sam promptly spends the rest of the night looking for how they even got _in_ , while Dean heads into town for cat food because they got the last of the tuna for breakfast.

“Any luck?” Dean drops the grocery bags on the counter. He doesn’t have a clue what cats are supposed to eat, but cartoons have taught him that they’re picky so he ended up with one of almost everything in the aisle and a vow to never frequent lane #8 of that particular grocery store at night on a Tuesday ever again, even if the checkout girl was cute.

Sam shrugs. “It’s an old building,” which is the excuse for any living creature being someplace it probably shouldn’t, though he would’ve expected the Men of Letters to do a slightly better job of everything-proofing the place. He raises an eyebrow at the contents of a can of Fancy Feast, but the cats appear to like it.

Cat One – orange – spends most of her (Dean manages to get a good look one day when she’s stretched out in a patch of sun, at least until she notices him in the doorway and promptly sprints out of the room) time sleeping under Dean’s bed. Cat Two (very much a boy, and Sam hopes that they’re not going to end up with kittens in the near future because that might be the one thing that pushes them both totally over the edge) ignores both of them, except at meal time. 

“We can’t keep calling them Cat One and Cat Two,” Sam says one night over research and grilled chicken. For not having a kitchen, ever, Dean knows his way around food. He wonders if Dean picked up a few things from all the roadhouses and diners they’ve frequented over the years, or if his brother watches a lot of Food Network when he’s alone.

“We’ve been trying to name them for weeks,” Dean says around a mouthful of food. He swallows. “Every name we’ve come up with,” he points to the list – because there is a list, and it’s five pages long, “is someone we know, someone who died, demon we exorcised, monster we ganked, or boring.” They might not have any lore on the subject, but they know better than to tempt fate by intentionally naming something that lives with them after a dead person. And as much as Murgatroyd might be the safest bet, he is not naming his first official pet (the goldfish won at the Nebraska state fair when he was eleven doesn’t count, as he forgot it in the hotel room when they had to rush out of town) _Murgatroyd_.

They’re inevitably shortened to One and Two, the name discussion is tabled permanently on account of it being the only thing in their lives that’s never going to be a crisis, Sam hauls them off to the vet to be fixed and caught up on shots (Dean swears the car smells like cat for a week afterward), and despite their best efforts with treats and toys (the only reason Dean lets the video of him trying to coax One out of the armory with a feather on a string stay on Sam’s cell phone is that he has ten minutes of video of Sam with a laser pointer trying to play with a very bored Two), neither cat is one bit interested in socializing.

Until Castiel shows up.

Both cats follow them around while giving Castiel the tour and an update on Kevin and the tablets. They hang back, decidedly interested but still somewhat bored by the whole affair. Then, improbably, within ten seconds of sitting down, One curls up in Castiel’s lap and Two jumps onto the couch and butts his head against Cas’ shoulder.

“Huh.” Sam and Dean stare in awe.

“What?” Castiel says, scratching Two behind the ears.

Dean shakes himself out of it first. “You know, we didn’t check for angel.”

Castiel looks at the orange cat sleeping in his lap. “Why would an angel be inside of a cat? We would have no method of communicating with you.”

Sam holds up his hand and closes his eyes for a moment, aware of how ridiculous what he’s about to say is. “Cas, can you just…check if they’re angels?”

“They are cats, Sam.”

“Awesome. Cats that just don’t like us.” Dean gets up for beer. “But eat our food,” he mutters. Two comes out of hiding for table scraps.

“You did insist on spraying them with holy water when they first arrived,” Castiel points out.

“You can talk to cats?” Sam says, at the same time Dean says, “Had to be sure.”

“I can talk to all creatures.” Two finally gives up on his attempts to nudge One out of the angel’s lap, and settles for the cushion beside him. “And they are not One and Two,” he says, “they have names.”

Dean pops open two beers and hands one to Sam. “Feel like sharing?”

“This,” he points to One, “is Jo.” She wakes up and yawns, meows in Dean’s general direction, and immediately settles, closing her eyes again. “And this is Bobby.” Bobby narrows his eyes.

Sam can almost hear it. _Idjits_.

“No,” Dean says, “we are not naming them after dead people.”

“They are not your reincarnated friends,” Castiel says, after checking with each to make sure they are not, indeed, Jo Harvelle and Bobby Singer in feline form. “But those are their preferred names.” He gently lifts Jo off his lap and sets her on the couch. She jumps down and rubs up against Cas’ leg, while Bobby plays with the ties of his jacket. “I must leave,” he says, more for the cats’ benefit than the Winchesters’.

Bobby meows in the sudden absence of an angel’s coat to play with.

“Seriously?” Dean says to thin air.

“Seriously,” Sam says.

“If they’re not actually named after the Jo and Bobby we know, we’re probably in the clear. Weirdness-wise,” Sam muses.

Dean agrees. “Fine. But if you mess up the mattress,” he says to Jo, “I’m locking you out at night. It’s supposed to remember _me_ , not you.”

Jo blinks and starts to purr.


End file.
